76 days...

Did you know there are 76 shopping days till Christmas?
Oh yes indeed.

Last Wednesday I saw a big blackboard announcing there were 83 shopping days left and it sent me into a momentary panic. I almost felt obliged to start writing cards. Or else arrange sale of a kidney to pay for all the gifts that need buying.

My mother was requesting Christmas wishlists and making cards, the shops are full of decorations and calendars for 2008. I've quoted Loudon Wainwright III before but his song about Christmas is brilliant:

Suddenly it's Christmas,
The longest holiday.
When they say "Season's Greetings"
They mean just what they say:
It's a season, it's a marathon,
Retail eternity.
It's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.

How long is it going to be before the strains of carols start being heard being pumped through supermarket speakers? Before everyone starts flooding the shops, desperate to get the best gift?
I'm starting to feel a sense of dread about the whole thing. And I can't get the damn countdown out of my mind.
It won't be much longer before the competition to see who can complete their Christmas shopping first commences. Where's the fun gone? By the time Christmas comes around I'm so sick of it that I'm rather looking forward to being able to go to the shops and not be confronted by endless images of Santa and his ho-ho-ho'ing. I'm turning into Scrooge!
No, that's not true, I'm just a little nostalgic for when it felt less mercenary. When the build-up didn't last for three months.
Ah well, can't fight consumerism.

And, because I love it so, I'm posting the whole song before I go.

SUDDENLY IT'S CHRISTMAS
Loudon Wainwright III

Suddenly it's Christmas,
Right after Hallowe'en.
Forget about Thanksgiving;
It's just a buffet in between.
There's lights and tinsel in the windows;
They're stocking up the shelves;
Santa's slaving at the North Pole
In his sweatshop full of elves.

There's got to be a build-up
To the day that Christ was born:
The halls are decked with pumpkins
And the ears of Indian corn.
Dragging through the falling leaves
In a one-horse open sleigh,
Suddenly it's Christmas,
Seven weeks before the day.

Suddenly it's Christmas,
The longest holiday.
When they say "Season's Greetings"
They mean just what they say:
It's a season, it's a marathon,
Retail eternity.
It's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.

Outside it's positively balmy,
In the air nary a nip;
Suddenly it's Christmas,
Unbuttoned and unzipped.
Yes, they're working overtime,
Santa's little runts;
Christmas comes but once a year
And goes on for two months.

Christmas carols in December
And November, too;
It's no wonder we're depressed
When the whole thing is through.
Finally it's January;
Let's sing "Auld Lang Syne";
But here comes another heartache,
Shaped like a Valentine.

Suddenly it's Christmas,
The longest holiday.
The season is upon us;
A pox, it won't go away.
It's a season, it's a marathon,
Retail eternity.
It's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.

No, it's not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree;
It's still not over till it's over
And you throw away the tree.